


let it play on your mind, stop, rewind

by strawberry_sky



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, but i sure would like to!, but of a character who i'm not quite sure i know her Whole Deal yet, cause i do! i SURE do!, do you ever just. think about astrid., hints of blumentrio and astrid/caleb but very much not the focus, spoilers through episode 128, this is mostly just a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 04:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30033255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_sky/pseuds/strawberry_sky
Summary: "Counterspell, like all spells that are cast as a reaction to something else, is something that you practice over and over again until it is fixed in your mind. You go through the motions until they are written in your muscles, every repetition in preparation for the exact situation when they will be needed. Then you do not think, you do not plan, you merely act. It is precision, pattern, practice, foresight. You do it because it is what you have always meant to do. It is the ultimate certainty."(in which astrid does not cast her favorite spell)
Relationships: Astrid & Caleb Widogast, Astrid & Eodwulf & Caleb Widogast, Astrid & Eodwulf (Critical Role)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	let it play on your mind, stop, rewind

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers through episode 128!
> 
> title from "fear" by wyvern lingo
> 
> find me at drinkingdeadpeopletea.tumblr.com

“Like all spells that are cast as a reaction to something someone else does, _Counterspell_ requires even more practice and precision than most.” Master Ikithon’s voice, as always, is flat in tone but charged with knowledge. “It is something that you practice over and over again until it is fixed in your mind. You go through the motions until they are written in your muscles, every repetition in preparation for the exact situation when they will be needed. Then you do not think, you do not plan, you merely act. Instinct.” 

Astrid Beck, twenty years old, stands in front of him, in the middle of the round room lit by flickering candles that Ikithon and his Vollstruckers use for training and practice, her hands folded behind her back as she takes in every word. “Instinct. A feeling.” 

“No.” This is said so sharply that the Astrid of five years ago would have flinched. “Wizardry is never _instinct,_ you know this. It is precision, pattern, practice, foresight. You do it because it is what you have always meant to do. It is the ultimate certainty.” 

Astrid dips her head. “Understood.” She’s pretty certain that it’s the same thing, in the end, but she won’t say this aloud. 

Ikithon pauses, watching her. “Somatic components only,” he says after a very long moment. “A flick of your wrist, then a thrust with your palm out.” He demonstrates, slowly, then very fast, and indicates for Astrid to copy. 

She does, very slowly and methodically, then a little quicker. 

“Adequate,” says Ikithon. “Now try.” 

He utters an arcane word, quick and sharp, and makes a flinging motion with his right hand. Astrid takes a step back on instinct, attempting to repeat the _Counterspell_ motion, but she’s too slow, and three arcane missiles slam into her gut. She grits her teeth, silent, brow furrowing slightly in pain and frustration.

“Try again,” says Ikithon, as three more missiles slam into Astrid’s shoulder, sternum, cheek. 

The process repeats, and she’s bloodied and bruised by the time she manages it, but she does manage it, a flick of her wrist and a thrust with her palm out just quickly enough to get her power in before her teacher’s spell is complete. With his free hand, he does the exact same motion, and Astrid feels her own spell reversed, missiles impacting again, this time causing her to drop to one knee. 

“Well done,” says Ikithon. His tone is still even, but she can hear the slightest hint of pride in it, and satisfaction wells up in her gut. She looks up at him, breathing heavy, flicking a piece of hair out of her eyes, and grins.

They keep practicing until both are nearly out of spells and Astrid is nearly out of strength, but hasn’t missed another counter, and has even completed some of them. 

Finally, Ikithon nods. “Well done, Astrid. That will be enough for today.” He starts to turn away from her, a clear dismissal, but Astrid hesitates. 

“Teacher, may I ask a question?” 

He doesn’t look back, but does stop walking. “You may.” 

“Why am I learning this spell only now? I have been able to cast spells at this level for quite some time now. And why is Eodwulf not here?” 

There is a pause. Ikithon turns and looks at her, a look she is familiar with, like he is calculating her, as if every movement of her eyes and inch of her stance is a book he can read and then repeat from memory. “You are ready to learn it now.” 

The sentence is simple, but Astrid’s insight does not elude her. This is a spell that stops spells. If you are clever and good at magic enough, it can stop magic far beyond the power level that you can cast. Only now does her master trust her enough to hand her something that he knows could stop even him. 

In that moment, it becomes her favorite spell. 

This continues to hold true over the years, but though it is her favorite, she does not let it become her signature. If people come to expect it from her, they will take precautions. Instead, she lets them think she will not use it, lets them get complacent, and then at the most crucial moment, counterspells their teleport, their healing, their own counterspell, and watches the hope leave their eyes as they realize their attempt to best her has been wasted. She relishes it, every time. The spell flies from her fingertips with the ease of years of practice, intention so cemented that it becomes instinct. 

Until Nicodranas.

Astrid is fast, and lucky, and first through the door, which means she’s first up the stairs, which means she’s the one who slides around the corner just in time to see spell paper disappearing in sparks, to see a small frightened group huddled together with Bren standing at their center, tuning fork in his left hand while is right is finishing an arcane pattern, the last words of the incantation on his lips. His eyes meet hers, and they are afraid. She knows what fear looks like on that face, and knows what someone looks like when they’re caught in a situation they know there is no way out of. Bren had been foolish, his friends had been foolish, gotten overconfident, meddled with things they shouldn’t, trapped _themselves_. He’d always been too big, too brash, never known how to bide his time, and now he’s caught. 

Her hand comes up. Flick of the wrist, and a thrust with your palm out. As she’s done a hundred times. 

Except.

_They visit him in Vergesson every week, for a while. Then it’s every two. Then every month. Ikithon tells them they have to focus on their own studies._

_She tries to forget. Sacrifices had to be made for the safety of the Empire. She knows that. Bren knew that. (Didn’t he?)_

_She visits Vergesson alone, once, because something reminds her of him, even all these years later, and he is gone._

_“Why hasn’t he come to us?” Eodwulf asks, swirling the wine around in his glass thoughtfully._

_Astrid raises one eyebrow. “Really, Wulf? We left him in that place.”_

_“He was mad. Still is, maybe.”_

_“Yes. We were right. But even so.”_

_“Where do you think he is?”_

_She shrugs. “Not home. Not in Rexxentrum. Not using the name Bren. Not able to be Scryed. Beyond that, I’m not sure.”_

_“Have you told Master Ikithon that you know? Or what you’ve found out?”_

_She meets his eyes. “No.”_

_Eodwulf’s gaze is hard to read. “He won’t be happy you’re keeping things from him.”_

_“He didn’t see fit to tell us Bren had left Vergesson. The research I do on my own time is my own business, I think.”_

_“And if Bren reaches out again?”_

_She pauses, looks down at her own glass of wine, twists the stem slightly in her fingers. “We shall see what my instincts tell me, hmm?” She drains the glass._

_When he arrives at her house, she’d known he was in the city, of course. By this point, they are all keeping an eye on the Mighty Nein. Ikithon is very interested to know what the wizard now calling himself Caleb Widogast wants._

_By the time he leaves, she knows a few things. Bren is angry, Bren doesn’t understand what she’s been doing this whole time, Bren still cares about her. This all is expected. All is like what she remembers of him._

_He wants to destroy Ikithon. He doesn’t say this aloud, but he doesn’t need to. Astrid recognizes ambition. Shared ambition._

_The conversation is not listened to. Astrid has far too many wards on her home for that. She tells Eodwulf about it later. But only Eodwulf._

_It is at the dinner, the one where they are joined by Eodwulf, by Ikithon, by all of Caleb’s friends, that she realizes she has an opportunity. Caleb and his friends are bold, loud, not good at concealing their intentions. But they are_ powerful _. And they care for each other. Care immensely, in fact. She can tell, just from the way he is sizing up every person at this table, that Ikithon is already planning to use that against Bren, how he can control him. He’s used Astrid and Eodwulf against each other, after all._

_But Ikithon is not invincible. Like she’d told Bren. He’s an old man, he will die. He will, perhaps, die a little sooner than he intends to, if Astrid has anything to say about it._

_“Race you to the top,” she tells Bren._

_It’s dangerous to say aloud. But for some reason, she wants him to know where she stands._

_Ikithon sends her and Eodwulf to track the Mighty Nein. This is because they’re his best Vollstruckers, because they know Bren, and because it’s a test. Only the first two things are said aloud, but they all know the third just as well as if it had been._

_They track them as far as when they turn into birds to fly over the mountains. Eodwulf curses under his breath, straightening to watch them go. “You have anything for this?” he asks._

_Astrid shakes her head. “Didn’t stock Polymorph.”_

_They’ve been watching the Mighty Nein long enough to know their capabilities. The Mighty Nein have used Polymorph before. Astrid has it in her spellbook. And yet._

_Eodwulf pauses for just a moment, looking at her sideways. “And I didn’t stock Fly. Always a fucking shame when you don’t prepare the one spell you need.”_

_Astrid hums noncommittally. “We’d better let Ikithon know we lost them.”_

_“Give it a day, maybe,” says Eodwulf, very softly, tucking his hands into his pockets as snowflakes settle in his hair. “No rush. For us.”_

_A smile tugs at the edge of Astrid’s lips._

_By the time Bren asks her to dance, things have escalated. She says yes to the invitation without having to think about it. And then she sits back in the chair in her study and thinks very hard for several long moments._

_He had told her to come alone, but he won’t be. She should tell Ikithon. They could set up a trap, or even if they don’t want to start showing their hand in that way just yet, they can still use this to their advantage. Astrid knows how to force information out of people, but she knows how to pull it, too. Even just knowing what Bren wants, why he’s in the city, would be_ something _that they could use._

_Or she could take this opportunity for herself._

_She doesn’t know if Bren knows what she’s doing when she dances with him, and when tells him that he’s being watched. When he asks for a way to protect them from the very people she works for._

_It would be easy to set a trap. It would be_ so _easy. But he is looking at her, and those blue eyes are open, burning with sincerity and with ambition, and she hasn’t seen that since she was eighteen years old. He always did burn._

_She can see his friends, dotted around the bar, watching them. Protective of Caleb, supporting him, even though they must know at least some of what he has done. She wonders if they understand why he did it. Or if they don’t, and are here anyway._

_She wonders if Bren knows what she is risking when she gives information rather than gets it. From the way he looks at her, she thinks he does._

_She only makes it a few blocks before she collapses in the alleyway, tucking her head against her knees, shoulders shaking as she controls her sobs. She has not trusted or cared for anyone but herself and Eodwulf since she was 18 years old. Hasn’t been able to afford herself that luxury. If Bren fucks this up somehow, it could get them killed, and that’s the merciful scenario. This could cost her everything._

_It could_ gain _her everything. Caleb wants to kill Ikithon. And Astrid is so tired of being controlled. Twenty years. Not even letting her thoughts get too bold, in case they are being read._

 _It’s worth it, of course, it’s all worth it for the Empire. Isn’t it? No. After all she’s already sacrificed, it has to be worth it. For the Empire. And in the smaller picture, for herself and for Wulf, the only person left who she can trust. She is going to be in control. She is going to_ make _it worth it._

_But Bren is here. After all this, he is here, and he is...free. He is fighting. He has six people who are watching his back. And Astrid is alone, crying in an alleyway._

_After exactly three minutes, she pulls herself together, snaps the mask back on, and walks out to start gathering the things Caleb and his friends will need._

_She doesn’t tell Eodwulf. If one of them is going to go down for this, it should only be one of them. But she points the Mighty Nein toward the amulets in Vergesson. It’s not the only place where they could get what they need, but it’s the easiest, the quickest, and, well. If Bren burns Vergesson to the ground, that is an added bonus._

_By only two hours later, she knows things have gone horribly wrong._

_Eodwulf is with her when they get word, and his eyes lock on her immediately. He raises one eyebrow._

_Astrid lets out a long sigh, shoulders tightening, and nods._

_“Foolish,” says Wulf. “You and him.”_

_“Come,” says Astrid. “We can salvage this.”_

_She takes them directly to the Chateau, and she and Eodwulf don’t have to discuss. They sit, silently, in their disguises so as not to cause instant alarm, but not being nearly as subtle as they should be. And they give a warning._

_“Last one,” Wulf murmurs to her. “We bought them five minutes. It will have to be enough for Bren. You and I have too much to lose.”_

_He’s right, of course. They’ve already risked so much for the sake of their past relationship and their hope for what Bren can do. Anything more than this would be pushing it to the point of real danger. From here on out, they are Vollstruckers._

Astrid is fast, and lucky, and first through the door, which means she’s first up the stairs, which means she’s the one who slides around the corner just in time to see spell paper disappearing in sparks, to see a small frightened group huddled together with Bren standing at their center, tuning fork in his left hand while is right is finishing an arcane pattern, the last words of the incantation on his lips.

_It is something that you practice over and over again until it is fixed in your mind. You go through the motions until they are written in your muscles, every repetition in preparation for the exact situation when they will be needed. Then you do not think, you do not plan, you merely act. It is precision, pattern, practice, foresight. You do it because it is what you have always meant to do. It is the ultimate certainty._

Her hand comes up. 

His eyes meet hers, and they are afraid.

Her hand is still, and then it lowers, and then she is standing there alone. 


End file.
